ARRANGED LOVE PARUL MITTAL PDF

Saturday, March 23, 2019

PENGUIN METRO READS ARRANGED LOVE Parul A. You can read more about her at www. followed by master's in computer science from sppn.infoittal. Download Arranged sppn.info PARUL A. MITTAL Arranged Love Contents About the Author Dedication A PROSPECTIVE GROOM EMAIL. Arranged Love book. Read 41 reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Suhaani is enjoying her independent status in the US and her sexy Ind.

Mittal only for Rs. Only Genuine Products. Free Shipping. Cash On Delivery! Reading the title and seeing the cover page of the book, you would have understood that this space is going to turn monotonous for some weeks. At 4 AM in the morning, I am done. Hurry up to Register Now. A Pre-Arranged love by Anusha Vishnampet is a very cute story.

She lives with her mother Sheela in Hyderabad. Her mother wants her to get married and ettle down in life and arranges for her to meet her friend, Sunita's. This page was last edited on 21 August , at By using this site, you agree to the Terms of Use and Privacy Policy. Skill in action is Yoga. Institute Launches many programs on its. Foundation Day. Institute has decided to celebrate its Foundation. Day on Nov.

I had an arrange marriage on Jan'13 and soon my wife became pregnant……at that point of time she was working and earning around 40K per. Your reflection, your trust, your love. My millions of births are nothing. But a journey towards you. To forget myself in you. To merge myself in you. Ka dawn thin ka nun hi. I rawn tel a ka hlim ngei.

With the passage of times, we are becoming forgetful about our own culture and ancient heritage which could act as a guiding tool for a contemporary student of modern India.

Sitting in a lab full of dummies, I could not engage in shopping, socializing, or sex. So I decided to watch the song Crazy kiya re on YouTube to jazz up my spirits. The boys slowly began to glide towards my laptop. It can hardly be my fault if the wax statues got aroused by the sexy lady on the floor.

Guys, I tell you! I bet Professor Girpade also watched Aishwarya Rai sway her hips and seductively glide her hands over her curves, before making his presence known. You could eat, drink, sleep and even walk out in the middle of his lectures. Understandably then, I was scared when he called me to his room and shut the door behind him.

In the next five minutes, he made it clear to me that he will not tolerate any behaviour that causes distraction to his other students. First Deepak and now Professor Girpade!

You are likely to incur emotional setback and financial loss. Just like you need a healthy mix of vitamins and minerals for a balanced diet, I preferred a healthy mix of alphabets in my grades to maintain my work—life balance.

The balance, however, came with a fair mix of good and bad days, and today was turning from bad to worse.

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Any chance I could win a settlement suing Aishwarya Rai or YouTube for stripping me off my hard-earned scholarship? Of course, no one could have predicted that twenty days later, I would still have the scholarship but not the job.

All work and no play, freaked my boyfriend Jay, and he put me on a low carbs diet. Other than that, the next three weeks passed without any mishaps. Thesis submitted and my self-imposed entertainment ban lifted, I was watching a new episode of Friends, when my mobile rang. However, right now, she was an accomplice of my dad in the husband-hunting crime. Where have you been absconding for the last three weeks? First you create a bug and then you try to find its solution. I thought only Microsoft is allowed such flimflam.

He has a reminder set for 15th of every month to check on the Suhaani—Deepak progress. Why has Dad suddenly gone off-track, searching for a groom? Once you finish your studies and start working in the States, chances of your coming back are poorer than me having sex with that new, cute trainee.

For now, I was supposed to just dilly dally on this marriage proposal. She would ensure the discovery of some gross flaw in Deepak, fabricating a pregnant girlfriend or a history of smoking pot if required.

Basically, Deepak was go, went, gone as far as I was concerned. I will stay put in the US for another couple of years, unable to take time off for an India trip due to my new job. My parents could visit me instead and also get to see a new place. Over the next two years, I will gradually get my parents to doubt my sexual orientation and fuel their paranoia about my marriage.

Occasional, accidental Facebook comments, a kiss here, a hug there, and a few random girlfriend pictures would do the trick. Once convinced that their daughter has homosexual inclinations, my parents would be glad I married a GUY, even if he was Jayant Guy. She agreed it was an awesome idea and we both hung up, me with a satisfied grin. It went unanswered. He must be at the gym, I figured and started dressing up for the evening bash.

Ashraf was the host for the evening. Dressed in a crisp, white, lucknawi kurta and churidar, he seemed all set to climb the ghodi and take the vows. The place was teeming with students from all parts of the world.

A self-serve bar, stacked with expensive wines and high-class liquor, was set at the corner table. Plates full of cocktail samosas, veg pakoras, tandoori paneer and chicken lined the snack counter. Ashraf was known for his lavish tastes, wide circle of friends and amazing inter-personal skills, all of which had helped him woo his in-laws.

While the desis were guzzling liquor like their bodies were composed of 70 per cent alcohol, the goras gorged on the spicy Indian savouries. She was one among the many bimbos surrounding Neetu, admiring her bejewelled, backless blouse and designer saree. She was wearing a short, strapless, body-hugging dress that could barely contain her assets from spilling out.

The outfit was a fashion disaster if you ask me, but men rarely notice such stuff.

She gave me a contemptuous smile, turned away, and glided effortlessly in her high heels towards her destination. I could see a helpless Jay, holding glasses in both hands, unable to stop her body from touching his. Then she flashed her boobs at Jay, while casting a smug glance in my direction. Now, I considered myself reasonably broadminded as far as staying in touch with an ex was concerned. And, I appreciated that Jay shared similar views, but Denise always managed to evoke the worst in me.

Before I could uproot myself and go slap her, she had disappeared among the many people thronging the bar and Jay was standing next to me with two glasses of wine. Feeling furious at her sleazy act, I gulped down my wine in a single shot, and kissed Jay fully on the lips to establish my claim on him. Pleasantly surprised by my public display of affection, Jay shoved me, through the thick of the grooving crowd, to the centre of the dance floor.

I wondered what he was doing, for he had two left feet, but a quick look around cleared my confusion. They were dirty dancing! Their bodies grinding against each other, they were gyrating to the beats of music. I felt uneasy. I was cool with casual physical contact in public, but my outdoor limits were governed by what I was comfortable with uploading on Facebook.

Today, high on wine and fuelled by jealousy, I had already violated my boundaries. The coolness of his touch sent shivers of excitement down my spine. I tried to pull away but Jay tightened his grip around my waist. Pulling me closer to his body, he started gyrating our hips together in a rhythmic fashion. His other hand was exploring its way up, under the lower hem of my choli. Ashraf was standing with a mike, in the centre of the room, thanking everyone for their presence. Like a queen, she demanded that he sing a Bollywood number for her.

Now that, I thought was unfair. Or maybe, that was the bachelor Ashraf I knew! The song ended to a huge applause, as Neetu rewarded Ashraf with a passionate kiss. I looked longingly at them. This is what I wanted. This is what every Indian girl wants. To have a lover who would praise her and sing for her.

To marry the guy she loves, with the consent of her parents. I felt a sudden sadness in my heart, like if I married Jay a part of me would stay empty forever.

Damn the wine! I shook myself out of the self-pity. This was my choice. His answer offended the girl concerned, who counterattacked by broadcasting that her current boyfriend was four inches bigger. She willingly lifted her dress to bare the crawling scorpions tattooed on her butts.

As the game progressed, it ruffled some more egos, broke a few couples, and revealed a lot more skin. When the turn came to Denise, she chose a Dare. Ashraf asked her to kiss a person other than her current beau.

Fluttering her false eyelashes, Denise paraded the room, pretending to be in a fix. She snogged him for what seemed like the longest kiss ever, before she eventually let go of her grip on him. I could feel the pitiful glares from all the girls around the room, while guys regarded Jay with new respect.

I tried hard to control my anger and keep from blushing. Taking a sip of the wine, I held the glass in front of my face to hide the anger flashing in my eyes and the humiliation contorting my features. I stole a quick look at what Jay was doing. He seemed absolutely normal, like Denise had cast an imperious curse on him and he was under her control.

He even looked back at me and gave me his usual smile. Be a sport. She has kissed me before, on my lips and elsewhere. Surely this was easier than differentiating between mauve and magenta. Men and their inability to understand the simplest of situations! Soon, it was my chance to take part in the hideous entertainment. Having lost my sense of humour and not feeling very bold, I opted for Truth. Just then someone switched on the TV and I knew the party was over! Soon after that night, everyone around was talking about the market crash, lay-offs and debts.

Shops were offering huge discounts to boost the economy and make people spend. My lay-off letter came in within a week. To be precise, it was a withdrawal of the provisional job offer due to unforeseen circumstances.

The only people celebrating were my parents. Unless I found another job in the next four months, enrolled for a PhD under Professor Girpade, or settled for delivering pizzas—all of which were unlikely—I was home-bound now. Papa had even started scouting for jobs back in Delhi for me.

In those days, after my job offer was withdrawn, I tried all sorts of permutations and combinations on my savings with possible loans from friends.

I did spreadsheet analyses multiple times. It all led to the same result: I could survive a maximum of two months after the scholarship ended before running out of cash. Huge discounts in salary for early bird offers. I was reading an article on how arranged marriages were more successful and led to fewer divorces compared to love marriages in Indian societies.

I had forgotten I was back at home in India, sitting in the living room with my parents. Uncomfortable, the nude groom in my imagination quickly got dressed.

She was clearly against the notion of random, experimental sex that our generation was eagerly lapping up. Sitting across the room on a sofa, with the laptop creasing her crisp cotton saree, she was busy harvesting crops and milking online cows on Farmville. I contemplated explaining to her the difference between having sex and making love, but then I decided against it. Why disillusion a simple, pious lady? However, one thing was clear.

On the first night in an arranged marriage, people just have sex. It was a clear case of confirmation bias. Girls are financially dependent and guys are scared of their emotionally blackmailing mothers. The morning was perfect. It was early March. The cool breeze made me curl my fingers around the warm cup of herbal tea and relish its fragrant flavours. The last few weeks had gone by in the blink of an eye.

It had cost him a fortune, and Ma had been upset about the extravagance, but that was typical. Soon, I was amidst the African bush tracking the Big Five. I was having breakfast with giraffes necking a few yards away, admiring the silkiness of zebra skin and drinking beer in a makeshift camp while a rhino marked his territory. When the wildlife got too much for us, we switched to sunbathing on the beaches with penguins. I had briefly written him emails, updating him on my wild escapades, and promising more details when I got back.

Now suddenly, when back at home with nothing else to occupy my mind, I found myself yearning for Jay. Instinctively, I unlocked the phone lying next to me, and then wistfully locked it back again. The local time in Michigan was I had been so disappointed to realize that he was still asleep.

I remembered the last night we had spent together in my apartment. Not that I could if he did. On the whole he had been quiet, casual and composed about my untimed departure. Was he being practical, bold or indifferent? Did he not fear that he could lose me? I hesitated. Had he seen the restlessness in my eyes? Did he already know there was someone?

I was tempted for an instant to tell him about Jay. As always, Tanu di had guessed correctly. Dad had just wanted me back home.

And therein lay the crux of the problem.

In any case, Jay had at least two years to go before he finished his PhD, and I was mentally unprepared to have a showdown, just yet. Keeping an impassive expression plastered on my face, I pretended to be absorbed in the magazine. Mom was frantically ploughing land so she could earn some farm-coins and download more livestock. He had braided some thirty, small-diameter cornrows in the last hour in my hair. She had wasted no time in expressing her displeasure, right at the airport.

I knew he understood my need for a change. I would often experiment with my looks, especially when I needed a morale boost. I had hit the beauty parlour the very day I got my job withdrawal letter. Pa and I got busy with solving the Sunday crossword. It was good to be back home. Over the next month however, as the initial excitement of homecoming subsided, I started to see life as it really was. Public toilets were clogged with sanitary napkins and condoms.

Bras and panties, hung on clotheslines, proudly adorning the apartment balconies. Drivers made sure to honk when breaking a traffic rule to warn the others. The stars appeared in the sky only on events like the Earth Hour. I had lived in India for twenty-one years, without noticing and perhaps even contributing my bit to the state of affairs.

Now, one short stay at a five-star hotel suite and I was complaining about life at the shack. Yet, these were all external, environmental differences. My college mates and school friends were either studying or working somewhere. Tanu di was again away to the hills, this time searching for the sanjeevani booti to save her own business. Mom had her hands full with home, school and Farmville. Dad had his routine set with office, music classes and IPL matches.

That left me alone, most of the time, to do whatever I wanted, and all I did the whole day was eat, eat and eat some more. My clothes were beginning to get tight from my consumption of unrationed calories, and I could feel the extra fat beginning to bulge out of my jeans. Enough of lazing around like Garfield.

Book Review: "Let's have coffee" by Parul Mittal

I needed to take a break from my break. Swallowing my pride, I decided to call DeepAche. Yes, the same Deepak Goyal. The call was strictly business. As soon as I had become jobless, Dad had posted my resume on Naukri. He had even shortlisted a few companies and a couple of those had expressed interest in hiring me after brief telephonic interviews.

I merely needed to make up my mind on which one to join. I was unsure how Deepak would react to my call. Worse still, he might not even recall who I was. I was about to disconnect, when he answered after the seventh ring. I caught scraps of their conversation.

I had already told him my name. I heard a door open and shut. In my all-day-Sunday mode I had forgotten that it was a weekday and Deepak would be at work. I chided myself for being careless. It was none of my business if he was hobnobbing with female employees. This also meant that Dad had spoken to him about it and he was aware of my dilemma.

This was going like a typical job interview where the interviewer first asks the candidate to describe his or her background even though he has already gone through the resume.

Clearly he considered this discussion a waste of his time. People get bored after a while, find a better package and switch. Hypnotized, I waited for him to say more. As I am not a gut feel person, I told him that I believed in concrete data points. What did he think I was asking him about? Prospective suitors! You offered such a tempting bait. Mature suitors vs fun suitors.

Suitors with attractive packages. Switching suitors when bored. I tittered self-consciously, and asked him, measuring every word carefully, if I should join a VLSI company or a dotcom start-up. This time, he methodically explained to me the positives and the negatives of the two sectors. Call a few close friends and decide based on their inputs. Close friends! Either he was desperate to get close to me or was too conceited to assume that I was trying to get close to him.

Before I could clear his misconception, he said he needed to rush to a meeting. I politely thanked him and disconnected. I had nowhere to rush, so I sat down with a paper and pencil, and reflected on our conversation. If being adventurous and experimental counted for anything, then I had a helluva appetite for risk. However, to me, the risk was immaterial. I was only looking for a good experience while I was stranded in India.

As I had no other claims on my time, the long hours only seemed like a blessing. I also figured that the crowd in the dotcom start-up would be younger and hence more fun. Unlike Deep, I was a numbers person and favoured a systematic, step-by-step approach. I made a table of all the pluses and minuses, and assigned my preference weight to each of them. Next I gave points to each company against each factor, and finally I computed the weighted score.

The decision was done. I logged onto Facebook to check the latest news in my social circle. I commented, saying I prefer mine strong and hard. Neetu had posted some more pictures from her party. I recalled how I had lost my head over that boobs-on-display Denise, and kissed Jay in public.

I immediately messaged Neetu to remove the picture from FB.

I then wrote a long mail to Jay telling him how lonely I was and how badly I longed to be in his arms, how I had gained love handles in the absence of any physical activity and how he was to be blamed for that, and how under all circumstances, he was to stay away from Denise.Working as an assistant wedding planner at an ex-boyfriend's wedding, Meha encounters the delectably handsome wedding photographer, Samir.

Deep, on the other hand, was the quintessential Indian man that every Indian girl would like to get to know. We had just started the day and he could take the frustration out on me. At the bottom was a quote from Michael Stipe that said. My horoscope for the day must have read. However, destiny had something else stored for her and she lost her job due to recession, and was forced to come back to India.